


A Lesson in Discipline

by Fabellion



Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal characters - Freeform, Dog Fighting, Gen, Gratuitous abuse of italics, I wrote this for a school assignment, Implied Unhealthy Relationships, Training, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Weirdly descriptive paragraphs about being given a collar, im too lazy to beta read this, it took like five days cuz I’m a lazy mf, kiara has a skewed outlook on things, not graphic tho I can’t write fight scenes to save my life, shes a lil fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabellion/pseuds/Fabellion
Summary: Alan has been given an offer he cannot refuse — a chance to sit in on one of Kiara’s training sessions with her Master. However, she quickly becomes fed up with his lack of initiative and—what she feels to be—“disrespect” towards her owner, and decides that some more hands-on schooling is in effect.





	A Lesson in Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> Whooo boy, this took a weirdly long time to write (because I’m lazier than a goddamn grizzly bear) but I’m fairly glad with the outcome! It could be better, I’m sure, but at the very least I can be contented with the fact that most kids in my class probably didn’t include even half the amount of detail as I—pardon my blatant vanity. At any rate, I hope you all enjoy! (those who read it anyway lol)
> 
> Oh, Alan is an Australian Shepherd and Kiara is a half-wolf Akita dog.

“S-so, you’re really sure that this is okay?” The voice behind me is warbling; his tongue sounds to slip and tangle in the back of his throat, breaking his words in a hushed whisper. Almost like he was _uncertain_ , hah. I had to scoff. How laughable would that be, to be _afraid_ in the face of such a glorious prospect?

“Yes, you sniveling pup,” I gruffed, swiping my tail with purpose about behind me. It met its target with a satisfying _whump_ ; a short, startled cry followed quickly after, and this time I really couldn’t contain the laughter bubbling up my throat. “Damn, could you _get_ any more pathetic? To think I chose you of all dogs for this…” The soft scorn in my voice must have gotten to the shepherd; the fear caking his scent spiked almost sickeningly. My nose wrinkled in distaste, and I hastened our steps quick thereafter. 

“You’d better be grateful, Alan,” I continued, aloof. “He and I both are doing you a hell of a favor by allowing you to join in, so don’t you _dare_ take His kindness for granted.” He spoke not a word in response to that, but in the shadows glimmering across the stone-paved floorboards I could see his own nod in quivering assent. 

As it was, Alan had received quite the lucky offer from my owner; after noticing just how… ahem, _taken_ I was with the Aussie -- my lip curls in disgust at the thought, despite the fluttering leap in my stomach -- He had graced Alan with only the greatest privilege of all -- a chance to experience one of our private training sessions. 

Just _why_ was this so special, you ask? _Well_ , I thought, a flare of pride ripping through the butterflies still pestering my stomach -- good riddance -- _I_ am _his favorite fight dog. Powerful, courageous, sporting fangs as sharp as my wits. I’m the obvious choice for his main fighter._

A quiet snuffle broke into my thoughts, and I shot a glare backwards. _Now, as for this one…_

Alan could be described with many words. Stupid and doleful, to name a few. He knew it himself to be true, if his often-overheard nightly reprimands were any indication. But no such terms, no matter how self-deprecating, regarded him with as much accuracy as _one_ did. You see, Alan was absolutely, positively, _downright **pathetic**_. And you’d best believe I meant that with every last raging, fire-laced ounce of loathing thrashing within my body.

\- - -

Finally, after what had felt to be ages, I was nosing open our pathway in through my Master’s door, hung ajar. As would be expected of His brilliance, He appeared to have been aware of our entrance even with His face cast downwards; my eyes strained to see what He was doing in the dim light of His ‘room.’ Inspecting something, perhaps? 

Eh. Regardless of what he held, it’s not as though it currently mattered; I needn’t even give a sidelong glance behind me to know how Alan’s face must be stricken with fear, his mind racing as it mulled over each and every terrible thing it could possibly be. The thought alone made me want to rip around and snarl at his stupid expression; my Master wouldn’t hurt a damn hair on either of our pelts, so why the hell was he still so afraid? My jaws parted, oh-so-ready to give him the steady admonishing he certainly deserved, when heavy booted steps began drawing near. 

We both snapped to attention -- he with more trepidation than I, of course -- and watched with bated breath as my Master knelt before us. His fist was still enclosed around the curious something we both pondered; I leaned forwards to sniff at it. It smelled sharp, like freshly cut leather and rubbing alcohol. 

When He pulled back just enough to unveil what He held, I could hardly believe my eyes. Alan must have felt the same, if the shallow intake of breath beside me was of any indication. Wait, beside? When had he-- ah, whatever, I thought, stifling a growl; I’ll let it slide for this moment. It _was_ rather important, after all.

For there, left dangling between His fingers, was a new black leather collar with the word _Mockingjay_ emblazoned proudly on the front of it. Both of us could only stare it down in awe, and, in my case, with a little touch of revulsion. Oh, this stupid pup better realize how lucky he is!

My Master’s offering was met with stunned silence, however. He just knelt, and waited, and saturated the room with resignation as He was continually denied. My gut writhing, I whirled in place to face Alan and promptly hissed out, “this is an _honor_ , you damned fool! Stop standing and staring like the idiot you are and accept His generosity!” 

Well, that seemed to do the trick. With a yip quiet enough that only I could hear and a panicked bounce to his step, Alan stumbled over his own two paws in his haste to claim his shiny new prize. I scoffed. Look at him, tail tucked so far between his legs he was practically hiding behind it! My Master rumbled a deep sound of content and reached forwards, tugging Alan closer by his scruff from where he stalled mere footsteps away. The Aussie’s sharp responding yelp hurt my ears, but Master seemed rather unperturbed by it. He forced Alan to still as He brought the collar up to his neck.

Alan was still shaking as He strapped it tightly around, but I’ll admit I felt a small twinge of pride for the self-restraint he put into not turning tail and bolting. For such a flighty little thing, he could keep himself grounded surprisingly well. _Not to mention_ , some asinine part of me murmured, _it looks quite fetching on him, does it not?_

Albeit, my respect for him was short lived. The very moment my Master’s hands left his matted pelt, Alan spun on his heel and did just exactly that -- all the while wearing the most terrified expression I’d ever seen plastered on _anyone_ in my entire career of being a fight dog. Strong though I may be with my rippling muscles hidden beneath thick auburn fur, he was faster, and I could only just intervene in time. 

One well-placed tug to the back of his new collar was more than enough to wrestle him down; I clamped my teeth harder, living for the feel of the soft leather giving between my jaws, and dragged the sorry scrap of fur straight to the ground. His entire body was quaking beneath mine; _just_ as damn well, I thought, hot breath rolling scorn over his face with every other snarl, _if he’s going to act this cowardly, he doesn’t deserve my Master’s mark of ownership!_

However, just as my teeth made to shear straight through the offending strip of leather -- and maybe the equally offending Aussie right on with it -- a shock of branding pain burst across my right flank. An agonized roar built in my throat, and I whirled in place to face this new assailant -- only to have it die on the tip of my tongue before it even left me. For there stood my Master, a deep scowl setting his face in shadow, and he was reaching towards his desk to deposit what looked to be the belt he wore earlier. 

In an instant my stomach crumbled in on itself. My muzzle hit the ground so fast I thought I saw stars, but my body seemed to work on autopilot to grovel itself in as humbled a manner as it possibly could before the shame of my wrongdoing. I felt as sick as the whine keening from my throat led me to sound, but Master held no sympathy for my in-earnest stupidity. He made to raise his hand as though he were to smack me once more -- my body tensed, eyelids flinching shut as I awaited the devastating blow -- and yet, it never came.

When light slowly filtered back to my eyes, it was with immense relief that I realized my Master had mercifully decided to enact pity on me. He was back to facing His desk, muttering something under His breath and moving things around with a clatter. Something slipped and slammed to the floor. He grumbled a curse and knelt to pick it up, and it was with some trepidation that I peered out from behind His leg to see what it was. 

Ah, it was just the arm guard to His attack armour. Seeing it reminded me of why I had dragged Alan here in the first place, and I slowly stood to see how the shepherd was faring after my unsolicited aggression. 

Tch. Of course, he was doing what he did best -- cowering. All he ever did was cower! Cower, cower, cower. Did we not go over the ‘Alan is pathetic’ thing yet already?

I was tempted to go over there and give him a piece of my mind again, but seeing as how that ended _so well_ last time I quickly decided against it. Oh, and before anyone decides to up and get the wrong idea, I am in no way _frightened_ of my Master. You see, I was simply ashamed for having wronged Him and His carefully crafted artifacts -- no matter how much of a wrongdoing it was in of itself to be worn by the likes of THAT pup -- and thus I was doing my best to express that shame to Him. That was a grovel borne of dignity, not terror.

The sound of my aforementioned Master calling out both Alan and I by our fight names is what shook me back to reality. I took a moment to spare one last disdainful look at the Aussie, who was still quaking as he clambered to his feet, before bounding back behind him to act as the rear of our little party. “Mark my words,” I growled, just low enough for him and him alone, “you won’t escape again. Show that same quivering disrespect a second time and you’ll have more to worry about than getting out of here unscathed.” 

A full-body shudder wracked through his veins.

\- - -

By the time we had entered the training room, Alan was a jittery, perspiring mess. Not that he wasn’t ALWAYS a jittery, perspiring mess, but in this context I found it to be oddly… endearing. He’d already fought by my side a few times before, yet the thing that shook him up the most was the mere idea of training with us? How cute. 

Anyway, back to that training session. My Master stood a little across the way, strapping on the arm guards meant to prevent me from shredding His skin into mincemeat. Not that I had any desire to do so, mind you, but they certainly were rather effective. They still bore their fair share of rips and scars, though. The leg guards came next, in just as much a state of disarray as the former ware, and then He was crouching low to the ground, giving a low whistle in challenge to beckon forth my inner aggressor. As always, the taunt worked -- although, for me, it was more of a signal to start than anything else. The point stands regardless.

As for Alan, he had frozen in place and was staring down the sight of us like a deer struck with headlights. His eyes were wide and fearful, darting throughout the scene rather than sticking glued to any one of us; still, he looked to be sick with nerves. 

I sighed, and stood momentarily from my tensed position. “You’re just to watch this round, idiot,” I called, some ditzy part of me hoping to quell his worries. “What, you think we’d just throw you amidst the fray without so much as a demonstration?”

“I, uh, well,” he stuttered, looking all the more uncomfortable despite my best efforts. A tinge of annoyance bubbled up inside me. 

“The answer is ‘no’, stupid,” I snapped, jaws clenching on nothing as I glowered at his stupid frozen face. God, he was so damn infuriating! _At least my newfound anger is the perfect thing to use as fuel,_ I thought, turning a glare of challenge back on my awaiting owner. He crooked a finger towards me in response, and that was all the extra prompting I could need.

“Pay attention, Alan!” I roared. “This is how a true warrior fights!” And with that I was off, a dark streak of fire in the low light of the room. 

\- - -

Everything -- and I mean _everything_ \-- hurt. My lungs had been lit ablaze, absolutely raw in their desperate aching for air. My muscles burned; my jaw was clenched in a near perpetual snarl; my claws clicked and glanced off stone as I fought valiantly for purchase. And yet there stood my Master across the way, seemingly as unfazed as ever, checking His gear over for more unfortunate injuries -- the sight churned my gut with pure, unadulterated _hatred._

Our fight was only half underway and already He had it so wrapped up I could practically already see the bitter end. I may have had strength rippled throughout me in spades, you see, with jaws as vengeful as a loose beartrap, but without being able to make Him bleed I simply couldn’t gain the upper hand through mere bulk alone. 

Such an idea was little more than that -- an idea. Those guards were thick, and strapped to His being a lot faster than they looked to be, so I couldn’t draw even an ounce of blood from Him if I so much as bit straight through them. 

Enraged, I shot forwards despite all that, and leapt for my Master yet again like a fire had burst within my veins. My jaws caught and pulled at an arm guard; I clung for all I was worth as He jerked this way and that, even as it felt my teeth were stretching from my very skull. A guttural sound tore from His throat and -- and then He was running, bolting for the wall, heavy booted feet crashing to the ground and threatening to throw me clean off --

\-- and then my abused lungs were screaming as the last tendrils of breath hidden away were shoved from within me in an instant.

My muscles gave; I slipped from the wall and landed with a dull _thud_ on the cold stone below, jaws aching something fierce. Distantly, I could tell that my limbs were shaking, but it was hard to place amidst the flaming, frost-bitten _pain_ pulsing throughout my body. I could faintly hear the small chuckle my Master gave past the ringing in my ears. _H-had I done something good? Or amusing, perhaps?_ My tail gave a dull wag at the thought.

He was slowly reaching down -- presumably to pat my head, or help me up? -- when a shrill, outraged cry broke through the quiet of my panting. I couldn’t help but flinch back; what in God’s name was _that?_

My answer came in the form of a grey-and-white blur suddenly hurtling past me, and in the split second it took for my mind to put two-and-two together I was already far too late to stop it. 

Or, more specifically, stop _him._

There stood Alan, now poised over my Master like a viper aiming to strike -- how had he even managed to topple something so big and burly? -- eyes wet and glistening with rage and hatred and pure, undiluted _terror._ He poisoned the room with the stench; it stuck to every shadow and crevice like mutated cobwebs, grasping for every last ounce of energy left between the three of us. My eyes watered.

The sight of the two itself was something to behold, but not in a way incredible or breathtaking -- or, it was, albeit for all the wrong reasons. It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion, trying to visually put together which flying piece came from which or whether that was blood or oil seeping from the back seat or, God forbid, that the driver who started the accident in the first place was hellbent on blaming the innocents for his deviance by running them back over the first chance that he gets--!

But by then the spell had broken, and with a resounding _smack_ Alan was left sprawled across the floor in a state far more unsightly than mine. He had not the wind left in him even to grimace, his face frozen in a perpetual state of absolute shock and horror. When I turned my gaze back to my Master, He’d gone back to inspecting His guards; the one strapped to His right arm now sported quite the jagged gash running up along the seam, and the huff He gave was just short of angry. 

It took a few more moments of staggering confusion and halted breaths for the reality of what had just transpired not even two feet away from my very eyes to hit. The revelation wasn't startling, or alarming, or even that of dismay; instead, something hot and irrational was burning there, searing my retinas from the inside out. I was seeing _red._

I hadn’t given Alan any time to reorient himself. In an instant I was bearing down over him in much the same way he had done to my Master moments ago, snarling something furious in the face of his total disrespect; how dare he, how _dare_ he do such a thing to the man who had rescued me --!

_“How dare you!”_ I could barely even hear my own voice past the blood pounding in my ears. It almost felt as though I were merely speaking in a whisper, though Alan’s expression appeared to beg otherwise. “What makes _you_ think you have the _right_ to barge into our session like that?! To _attack my Master_ like that?! And after He’d gone and graced you with a personal collar, mind you!!” Every inch of him quaked beneath my hardened paws. His eyes were wide and swallowing, pupils blown so dark I couldn’t even see the edge of his golden irises. My own were lit wild with rage.  
Regardless, my voice ran amok before he could even find his own to speak. “Such _filthy disrespect!_ Such outrage! After everything he’s done for you, after every _bleeding ounce_ of sweat and tears he’s put into prioritizing _YOUR_ sorry ass as one of his main fighters, all upon my request--!” That’s when I was struck with… a sort of epiphany. Before my mind could so much as start to grasp it, the accusations tumbled out like there was no tomorrow. And, for all he knows, there might not be. 

“When you disrespect my Master you disrespect _me!_ Your right hand; your partner in crime; _your childhood friend!_ You would be dead out there on the streets if it hadn’t been for me! For _us!_ ” Impossibly, Alan’s eyes widened further. I think a tear might have slipped down his cheek, but his fur was already so gnarled I could hardly tell. Not that it mattered any to me.

“I-I-I w-was just… um… h-he looked l-like he w-w-was, uh, h-hurting….y...y-you, I j-just w-wanted…um…” Oh, great, he had reduced himself to a sniveling mess again. Tch, that was fine; you think you might know how to shut him up. 

Although they still ached, I found some morbid satisfaction in how tightly my jaws had found themselves clamped around his muzzle. There, now he couldn’t plead for vainful mercy. I could still hear him whimpering, of course, but what else was a coward to do? I decide to let that part slip this time.

However, the joy I felt in sinking my teeth into his flesh suddenly started to morph; it twisted itself into a frantic sort of desperation prompted by rage, and in my vengeance-ridden high there felt to be no sweeter option than to act on it.

So in sunk my canines; deeper, harder, more, _hurt him more, **remind him who his Alpha is!**_ Distantly, something shrill and pained echoed inside my head. I wrote it off as an auditory illusion and bore my fangs as much as they would go. 

And then something hot burst across my muzzle. In a moment of clarity, I blinked, and every muddled thought I’d had up to now overlapped with coherency as they sunk upon my shoulders. Absently, my tongue flicked out to taste the strange, sticky warmth settling over my jowls -- and wrenched me back from Alan with a start as the taste of iron exploded in my mouth. 

_Blood. I knew it had smelled familiar for a reason._

Now that my brain had come back enough to catch up with the rest of me, my senses were working in overdrive. The scent of blood now saturated the little space the two of us shared, and Alan’s whimpering had risen to such a pitch I had the thought that my ears were going to burst. _Ugh, hadn’t I taught that fool anything?_

Though, I must admit; part of me despaired over the Aussie’s cute, fluffy face being smeared with his own blood and tears. The watery, absolutely betrayed look he was giving me set my own blood to flash-boil, and for a small, _split second_ I almost had to fight the urge to wipe the fluids clean from his fur and tell him he was going to be okay.

Almost.

Instead, rationality and morality alike snapped me back into the right place. With a disgusted growl, I finally clambered off that _pathetic_ scrap of fur and sauntered back over to my Master. It was easy to ignore the hitch in Alan’s breath when His hand was soothing up over my ears and muzzle, as the words _“good girl”_ fell from His lips. He reaches his other hand to gently tug at my collar, and it was at that moment I knew it was time to go.

Paws scrambled to gain purchase on blood-slick stone from behind me, but I chose to pay it no regard. My rage had subsided by now, awash instead in the afterglow of my Master’s hard-earned praise; there was no reason to humor that shepherd with some last parting glance. It weren’t as though I wouldn't see him another time. As I’d said earlier, he’ll be just fine.

For now, I’ll resolve to make sure that both my Master and his gear are faring better than they let in on -- that _pup_ better not have done any lasting damage to it, those things I’ve heard are “expensive,” whatever that means -- and then we could return back to the rugged sway and grind of our shared everyday lives.

And if Alan was too cowardly to stick in the picture alongside us, then that was no fault of mine.


End file.
